ifIknew is a health initiative for young adults that uses a multi media approach, including social media and in person programs, to address the contemporary issues that impact the well-being, self-image, careers, and relationships of people in their 20's and 30's.

If I Knew is a prevention education project that raises awareness about risky behaviors that can profoundly impact lives.

I was scrolling through my old Facebook photos the other day, and noticed a common trend amongst myself and my friends, both men and women... As we’ve gotten older, we’ve gained weight. This isn’t rocket science -- a slower metabolic rate combined with less activity than a younger person means that the pounds tend to pack on in your late 20s and early 30s.

An article in Women’s Health magazine describes it perfectly:

“‘By the late twenties, many women notice that they can’t eat the same things they used to without gaining weight and that the weight doesn’t fall off as easily as it once did,’ says Christopher Ochner, Ph.D., weight-loss expert at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York. Since this drop starts right about the time people settle into the (largely sedentary) workforce—and start losing muscle—your office job might actually be to blame, he says.”

So, I started thinking… how do you keep your self-esteem high while managing new and different expectations about your body?

(Ironically, as I’m writing this, the body-love hype song “Good as Hell” by Lizzo is blasting through my Spotify. I wish dealing with age-induced weight gain was as easy as just feeling good as hell.)

So, here’s some context for my experience -- I am a 28 year-old woman who has been considered average or slim most of my life. I *love* to eat but have tried to balance eating with working out and being healthy. I tend to fluctuate -/+15lbs, with my heaviest being considered overweight by medical standards.

Even though staying healthy has always been a part of my life, when I turned 28, my metabolism literally stopped. Stopped dead in its tracks. Metabolic rate = 0. Like, I ate a piece of bread and - BAM - I was suddenly one pound heavier. And bagels or pizza, forget about it! Okay, okay, I may be being dramatic, but I have to work twice as hard at the gym to keep my body looking as it always has. And, even with all that hard work, I’ve gained 8 pounds since turning 28 six months ago.

At first, I was angry and distraught, upset at the unfairness of it all. Why is this happening to my body? And with our country’s obsession with being young and thin and beautiful, my self-esteem was at an all time low. I felt ashamed and self-conscious that I couldn’t stop gaining weight even though I wasn’t eating differently than I had always been.

Finally, after two months of agony and anger, I did three things (which I recommend to you):

One, I worked really hard to stop the negative self-talk in my head. It’s not healthy for mental or physical health. Even though those voices are in my head, the look of shame and self-consciousness was written all over my face. It was starting to affect my confidence at my job and my dating life. I had to beat down the negativity before it beat me down.

Two, I rethought my eating habits. Even though I was angry about my changing body, I realized I had to go with the flow. As grown woman nearing 30, I needed to find a different way of eating that kept me satisfied and healthy but did not deprive me of food (because food is my first love in life). I found WeightWatchers which worked for me, and it helps me feel in control of keeping my body healthy and comfortable. Step two, check.

Third, and most importantly, I reconsidered my expectations about my body. Bottom line, my body is beautiful, even if it is a little thicker than it was when I was 22. My body is beautiful not because Victoria’s Secret says so, but because I say so. 10lbs, WHO CARES? If I want to eat a bagel (or two or three), then I am going to do it. I’m done with the guilt. Self-love is way more filling (literally and figuratively).

With age, being “skinny” has become much less of a priority; instead, I focused my energy on feeling comfortable in my body. That shift is transformational. Feeling like myself (whether +/- 15lbs) is my focus now. Looking my best finally means feeling my best, and that’s a good place to be.

You know those people who get up at 5:00am, work out, take a shower, blow dry their hair, cook scrambled eggs and bacon and slowly sip a cup of hot coffee while setting an intention for their day? Yeah, I never really trusted those people. I mean why in the world would they give up two extra nourishing hours of precious slumber for endorphins and a full belly?

I’ll tell you why – because they’re freakin’ genius. And they understand the value of a morning self-care routine.

There are few things I love more in life than sleep – pizza, Game of Thrones, massages, donuts, gifs, and the home section at Anthropologie, or better yet, having the money to actually buy something in the home section at Anthropologie. But if I’m being honest, and why wouldn’t I be, choosing sleeping in over a morning self-care routine has given me more stress than pleasure. In theory, I think sleeping in an extra two hours will give me more energy for the day. But in reality, choosing to sleep in an extra two hours doesn’t really give me anything and instead actually takes away time that I could be using to set myself up for a successful day.

Let me paint a picture for you. When I sleep in and snooze my alarm 5 times, I end up jumping out of bed at the last minute, running to the kitchen to make coffee and pack my lunch, running back into my bedroom to figure out what the heck I’m going to wear to work, and simultaneously shoving a banana in my mouth to satisfy my grumbling tummy. I can’t imagine if kids were thrown into the mix! Then I scurry to my car as anxiety and overwhelm buckle in next to me. For my 45-minute commute, I usually berate myself for not getting up earlier. In short – what I thought would give me pleasure, ended up giving me the opposite – pain.

Rumi, the 13th century Persian poet famously wrote, “Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” Rumi, drop the mic why don’t ya!

In all seriousness though, I think Rumi was really on to something here. Perhaps my task isn’t to seek for self-care, but find all the barriers within myself that I have built against it – i.e. oversleeping in the morning. This month I decided to make a SMALL change because when we commit to making too big of a change, we usually set ourselves up for failure and thus self-judgement and shame. This month I decided to wake up just ten minutes earlier than I normally would. And in those ten minutes I started doing a guided morning meditation on YouTube. The reason I chose to implement this change is because I wanted to center myself and practice “being” before getting up and “doing” right away. I also knew that setting an intention for the day would offer me peace, and peace is what I need more than anything at this time in my life.

Next month, once I’ve made a habit of doing my morning meditation, I will set my alarm for ten minutes earlier. In those extra 10 minutes I will make coffee and eat something without multi-

tasking. I know it sounds small, but again, in my experience, setting realistic goals is what sets yourself up for success and helps build confidence in your ability to create change.

If you’re someone who, like me, loves to sleep in, ask yourself how much it’s actually serving you. Is there something you could implement into your morning routine that would set you up for success? Is it possible to wake yourself up ten minutes earlier? What would you lose? What would you gain? Time is neither working for us or against us – time just…is. How we use time, however, can become our greatest tool for success.

I remember my first time using a prescription opioid. I was 17 and just had my wisdom teeth extracted earlier in the day. I was lying on the couch in our family room watching a re-run of Gilmore Girls, trying to distract myself from the pain I felt from the surgery.

My mom walked in with a white paper bag from the pharmacy. Inside was my prescription for Oxycodone. She opened the bottle and handed me one tablet. I took it with a glass of water and within 15 minutes, I felt something I had never experienced before.

Not only was the pain gone, but all the thoughts that usually filled my worried brain had dissipated. I felt like I was floating on cloud 9 and nothing bad could touch me; I was safe. I was in a state of utter and complete bliss. I turned to my Mom, smiled, and said while giggling happily to myself, “This is why people do drugs,” before closing my eyes and passing out.

After four days of using the tablets of oxycodone as prescribed, I asked my Mom to flush them down the toilet. While enjoying the high and temporary release from pain they offered me, I was scared of the power these tiny tablets possessed.

I grew up in a home afflicted with addiction and mental illness. My mother was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder after years of battling alcoholism. I saw the ugliness behind the appeal of a psychoactive substance; I watched my loving, charismatic, military-serving, Johns Hopkins graduate mother turn into a hateful, cruel, incoherent mess, and I had no interest in living that Jekyll and Hyde narrative myself.

My friend, “Anna,” however, had a very different experience. She was prescribed Percocet following gall bladder surgery in high school. The daughter of an opioid addict, Anna had always felt this deep and heavy void inside of her that resulted from the emotional and psychological abuse she fell victim to growing up. When she was prescribed the Percocet by her doctor, she received no warning about the highly addictive substance. She wasn’t asked if opioid addiction ran in her family. She wasn’t provided with any shocking statistic. She was simply advised to take the painkiller “as needed.”

When Anna reflects on the first time she swallowed an opioid painkiller, like me, she remembers feeling blissful and completely at peace with herself –a novel feeling for her. After a month, Anna felt physically and psychologically addicted to her painkillers.

While this rapid dependence may seem surprising, research by The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) Office on Women’s Health (OWH) shows that women may become physically dependent on opioid pain medication more quickly than men, due to basic physical and psychological differences like body fat percentages, metabolic rate, and hormonal fluctuations.

Once Anna had finished the Percocet tablets that were prescribed by her physician, she began to feel withdrawal symptoms commonly referred to as “dope sickness” – something people with opioid use disorder (OUD) describe as the worst flu you could possibly imagine.

Symptoms include nausea, diarrhea, constipation, insomnia, hot and cold flashes, muscle aches and spasms, sensation of bugs crawling on or under your skin, headaches, and sweating. One study done by HHSOWH found that cravings were specifically higher among women than among men which puts people like Anna at higher risk for addiction and death by overdose.

While initially people with opioid use disorder chase the calming sensation opioids offer, eventually it becomes less about the “high” and more about avoiding the “low” that is dope sickness. The physical and psychological dependence on opioids is so intense that to live without them becomes not only unfathomable, but also seemingly impossible.

It’s no wonder then why so many women like Anna have struggled or are struggling with opioid use disorder in our country. While statistically there are more men overdosing and dying from prescription opioids, the rate of deaths from prescription opioid overdoses for women increased 471 percent between 1999-2015 compared to 218 percent for men. In addition, heroin deaths among women increased at more than twice the rate of men.

This documented gender difference with regard to addiction is the topic of an upcoming program from Jewish Community Services (JCS). Women and Addiction: Our Unique Risks, will take place on Wednesday, May 22, 9:30 a.m. to 11:00 a.m. at The Suburban Club, 7600 Park Heights Avenue in Baltimore.

Sponsored by The Joan G. Klein Fund for Substance Use Disorders with additional support from the Jewish Women’s Giving Foundation at The Associated: Jewish Federation of Baltimore, the program will address the unique factors which can place women at risk for addiction and overdose and create obstacles to seeking treatment. Vickie Walters, LCSW-C, Executive Director of REACH Health Services and President-Elect of the Maryland Association for the Treatment of Opioid Dependence (MATOD), will be the guest speaker for the event.

A friend and I were talking last week about how she was so tired from her busy weekend. She told me what she did and I was exhausted just listening to her! Both weekend days were jam packed with work or play. I told her my weekend was full of R&R and brunch, both days. I told her I felt like I had reset over the weekend and was ready to work my 40 hours in 4 days.

If I work 40 hours in 4 days and have commitments the other 3 days of the week, where is there any time for me to rest? There simply isn’t. And if I do this week over week over week over week, I am going to 100% be burnt out. And don’t get me wrong, I definitely learned this the hard way but I am here to tell you that your weekend DOES set you up for a successful work week.

What helped me get out of the pattern of cramming everything I possibly could into my weekend was just simply saying, “maybe” to any and all invitations. I live my life in the “maybe” lane now. And it has really helped! I no longer feel obligated to follow through with any plans on Saturday and Sunday because I didn’t agree to them in the first place. I just say, “I’m not sure what’s going on that day so I’ll be a maybe” or, “Let me see how I feel as we get closer - I’ve been working like crazy lately!” This way of thinking and communicating with friends sets a boundary for yourself. As a consequence of this shift, I no longer have to cancel plans and be left with a gut-wrenching guilt afterwards.

In addition to my “maybe” life, I make a mental list of my “wants” and “needs” for my off days. What is it I want to do and what is it I need to do? Think of wants as your fun plans and your needs as things are necessary. On your “needs” list, always schedule “quiet” time like:

A nap

Exercise

A long bath

A slow easy brunch with friends

Meditation

Time to reflect

An activity that you enjoy most - for me, baking and creating macramé are my go-tos!

These activities should be things that you enjoy and don’t feel stress from; they’re something that fills you back up so you don’t feel depleted from the work week or before the work week ahead.

Now, I must confess, I do have “tidy-up” on my “need” list every weekend. But, I don’t let it rule my weekend. After all, cleaning is not my idea of fun but, it is a necessary part of my weekend. Typically I carve out time to tidy-up on Sunday afternoons and although I don’t like that activity, it definitely helps me feel fresh for the work week ahead - my mind is tidy and my apartment is tidy therefore I am ready to conquer this upcoming week.

In the coming month I challenge you to shift toward this way of moving through your weekend. Remember, this idea takes practice and boundaries but the first step to success is prioritizing down time in your weekend. Happy weekend, happy human!

One of the biggest things I’ve encountered in my life lately is dropping my ego. By that I mean not taking everything so personally. Most of us have a story we tell ourselves about who we are. For me I often tell myself “I’m not good enough.” Then when something happens that isn’t what I was hoping for, i.e. someone telling me I could do something better, I take it to heart. I go right to that place of “I’m not good enough” or “I’m a bad person.”

In reality, it either a. has nothing to do with who I am at my core and everything to do with whatever was done in that moment or b. is an opportunity to improve.

The thing is I have to let go of is the meaning that I’m attaching to the feedback or the comment. It doesn’t mean that I’m a bad person, a bad friend or a bad employee. It either is an observation someone else is having about situation, or perhaps reflects how they’re feeling, or there is an action I can improve upon.

Now, I’m not saying this is by any means easy. It is human nature to attach meaning to words and situations. However, we have the power to decide what that meaning is, if any. The best way to do this is to pause and check ourselves when someone is telling us something. For example, your boss tells you, “Great email and I would add in some more details about the project in the future.” Instead of assuming ‘CRAP’, they hated my email, I take it for what it is; a suggestion for next time or that’s how they would’ve done it but that’s not for me.

As humans we all have different suggestions and a variety of ways to do things. Think about the first time you lived with someone besides your parents and how people have different standards for cleaning or organization than you. Feedback often times can be the same, it’s how someone else perceives something can be done or improved on. Then we have the choice to take it all, take some of it or just straight up leave it.

Outside of the workplace this could be with a friend or roommate “they don’t like how you reacted to their promotion.” You can apologize or you can improve in the future or you can do nothing. At the end of the day be confident in who you are, your choices and remember even when you mess up it doesn’t make you a bad person.

In our twenties especially, it’s hard to find our footing between careers, friends, relationships/dating. That’s okay. I encourage you to work on dropping the attachment to other’s judgements and choosing what you want to take from the situation instead of always taking it personally. You’ve got this.

I met him when I was 16 and fresh out of high school. He had long hair, tattoos, and was 18. He was, just as this description might tell, a total “bad boy”. We dated on and off for a couple years then he, being a Virginia kid, went off to Richmond and I, being a Maryland kid, went off to Baltimore. Around this time, typical of young love, he made me mad and I blocked him on any platform I could.

Just before Labor Day, I got a call from a friend who asked if I was sitting down. “Brittni, he has cancer. He wanted to tell you but can’t get ahold of you. He wants you to visit him.”

On Labor Day, a few friends and I packed up and headed to Richmond. I remember traffic was horrendous that day. It took about six hours to get to Richmond when it usually takes about 3. I was so nervous. I walked into his hospital room unsure what I might see and how I might react. I was 18 and he was 19, at the time. How could my obsessed-with-a-healthy-lifestyle-only-19-year-old-ex be sick? What kind of punishment was this? I felt lost. Unsure of life and its beauty.

As soon as I got there, he asked to speak to me alone. Everyone left and we were alone. A window at my back, him in front of me in his hospital bed, he told me he was in love with me and that he was sorry. I remember the tears that fell down my face. I can still feel their warmth. I felt scared that I would lose him. That this sickness would overtake him. But I made a promise to myself and him that I would not go anywhere. That I was by his side, and we would see it through, together.

And he did. He went into remission. Our relationship continued to grow until, one day, it didn’t fit anymore. He moved on, and I moved on, only seeing one another a few times as the years passed.

Fast forward a few years, I found myself fresh out of a terrible relationship and wondering how he was doing. So, I reached out only to find myself in the same place I was just four years before. I remember the somberness and lightness in his voice as he said, “you always seem to come around when I’m sick.”

His cancer had returned. He was sick again. About a month later I stayed with him at the hospital and it was the most heart wrenching, difficult few days of my life as I teetered between crying and being in love when at the doorstep, death was felt. One night he said “please stop crying, I’m not afraid of death anymore. It’s inevitable you know.” And I begged him to not think such awful things. I told him he would pull through and things would be fine again. He smiled at me like he had already talked to God and knew his fate.

About a year later, he died. It was a Tuesday when I got the message and deep down, I knew the message was coming even before it had actually come.

This was four years ago now and I have learned so much about myself, what love is, and about living since then.

Right after he died, I shut down. I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I dated all the wrong guys, I barely showed up for work, and I said “no” to any invitation thrown my way. I stopped living. I died.

It was a few months after his death that I woke up one day. Like, I really WOKE up. What was I doing? Why was I pretending I died when I was the one still alive? So, I changed my attitude. I started to say “yes” to any experience that came my way. Concerts, friends, family, traveling, anything I could do, I did.

I now look back on those last few days with him in the hospital fondly. He was prepping me, in a way. Reminding me that death does not have to be so sad. He had lived his life - traveled as much as he could, loved as hard as he could, spent quality time with friends and family. In his 25 years on earth, he experienced more than most people do by time they’re 75.

This experience, though one of the hardest I’ve ever been through, brought me so much life and love. The group of people he loved are now my best friends - my “ride or die tribe”. His death shattered me but it also forced me to remember that life does go on after death. It’s hard to believe, but, it does. Beauty is all around you. You just have to be willing to look for it.

Growing up, I was always a read-the-last-chapter-first kind of girl—meaning I would often skip to the last chapter of a book before taking the time to read through an entire story. I just couldn’t handle not knowing what was going to happen. This trend has continued throughout my life, which has caused much distress in times of ambiguity and uncertainty.

As a young woman still in an extended post-grad season of life, I have found myself consumed with the idea of “getting there.” This preoccupation with an idealized future or needing to know what’s next has prevented me from living in a state of peace and enjoying the process of getting to the place I desire to go, especially when I am lacking in clarity, vision or direction.

Sometimes life grants us a glimpse of a last-chapter happy ending or tied-up loose ends, but sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes we must settle for ambiguity instead of closure. Sometimes we must trudge along in the darkness of our unknowns for a while to develop the grit and determination to fuel us once we get “there.”

“There” is one of the many places I dwell in my daydreams—European countrysides or Middle Eastern mountains, a future life as a wife and mother with children bursting through the halls of a custom-built home by the sea. But there is never here, never present. So neither am I.

Things get even worse once the flood of family questions begins to hit around the start of the new year. Many of us 20 or early 30-somethings wish we could crawl into the coziest cave we can find and stay there until spring blooms begin to sprout again.

“Why are you still living at home?” (I’m still asking that question myself...)

“What are your long-term plans?” (Tentative. But full of hope!)

Peace, joy and other marks of the new year can be elusive and seemingly unattainable when our post-grad lives are plagued with so much uncertainty. But that doesn’t mean peace is not possible in this place.

Writer Hannah Brencher captures this concept in her latest book, Come Matter Here: Your Invitation to Be Here in a Getting There World. She writes, “I’m learning that life isn’t about the destinations we can boast about getting to; it’s about all the walking in between that feels pointless when you try to take a picture of it because no one will understand it like you do. It’s the in between stuff that fleshes out a story—gives it guts and transformation.”

I am beginning to find contentment in the in-between. Waiting develops character, teaches us to deeply love and intentionally invest in the people around us, cultivate gratitude and gain skills for the next chapter. I am learning to tell myself, “No, I’m not where I want to be, but I will enjoy this journey of getting there.”

Enjoy the little things in life because one day you’ll look back and realize they were the big things.

— Kurt Vonnegut

The ‘big things’ that consume my mind tend to steal my peace and ability to enjoy the present moment. I confess that my compulsive desire to understand or know the future often prevents me from enjoying the beauty in the mundane.

What “big things” are stealing your peace right now? Mine include, “Where am I going to live someday? Will I ever be successful? How is this all going to work out?”

Pursue peace by surrendering your unknowns and remaining rooted in the present moment and cultivating gratitude each day.

Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

I am a New Yorker: Career ambition and achievement are a part of my DNA. But I’ve learned the hard way that successful careers often come with a price.

For two years, I worked for a large corporate organization aiming to solve gun violence in America. Our mission was important, the work was intense, and I felt important being a part of it. When I was young, success and achievement meant making a lot of money, having a big title, garnering respect, and being important to the company. To be successful, I sacrificed sleep, a healthy body, time with friends, and general emotional well-being. I worked myself into a complete stress-induced frenzy because I wanted to climb the ladder and I was relying on my job to fill a void.

Throughout most of my 20s, a huge part of my identity was entangled in my career. For young women (and young people in general), our 20s are spent figuring out who we are. As we try to pay our rent, make and maintain friends, and fumble through dating, it’s common that our jobs become a big part of our lives. But with long hours at the office, nights spent checking email, inter-office friendships or relationships, and mental space taken up by thinking about that next big meeting, are we leaving enough time for ourselves? What are we giving up to be successful young professionals? Should we be redefining “success?” on our own terms?

This year, at 28 years-old, I had a breakthrough (or breakdown?) about what success means to me and I made the decision to quit my job. I felt so tired and empty inside. I didn’t know what I wanted to do exactly, but I knew I couldn’t continue to work on myself AND work at a soul-sucking job in the name of being successful, anymore.

Eventually I found another job that allows me to do good work with good people -- but doesn’t have the same prestige or “success” as my former job with the gun violence organization. At first, I was hesitant to join the new gig because of this element. Without the grind, the obsession, the high stakes -- would I be fulfilled?

The answer, I discovered, is yes. Now that I’m on the other side, I have much more space to think, to reflect, to eat well, to exercise, to spend time with people I love. My job is important because it’s important to me.

My advice: Try to be as well-rounded as possible. Success is nothing to be ashamed of -- work hard, be pleasant, use your smarts, and all that jazz -- but try to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Life is too big and important to be a coffee-hyped zombie addicted to your email inbox. Again, mental health is so important -- and no job or amount of money is worth loss of sleep, relationships, or sanity; not even one that pays six-figures.

I’ve been given many opportunities; I’ve worked really hard; I’ve strategically used my intelligence to climb the ladder; I’ve been kind and pleasant to everyone (or most everyone) along the way… And I’ve finally been able to redefine what success looks like to me. Success looks like having the time, space, support and emotional resources to take care of myself and allow myself become who the best version of me.

The holiday season is marked by Hallmark movies and hot cocoa, gift wrapping and good cheer. Many consider the month of December to be “the most wonderful time of the year.” Others, like myself, struggle to fend off the familiar sense of dread the moment the days grow shorter, the skies turn gray and the temperature drops far below sweater weather.

As the sun begins to set well before dinner, Winter whispers, “Remember me?”

Contrary to cultural clichés that celebrate the rest and relaxation of “the most wonderful time of the year,” the hibernation wintertime brings requires hard work—heart work—to shape us for the new year to come. Winter elicits introversion and introspection that other seasons simply don’t demand. Cabin fever forces us to face the true emotions behind our hurried and socially-conditioned responses to, “how are you doing?”

Winter enters in, despite our desperate pleas, fixes us a pot of tea and asks, “No. How are you really doing?”

While I am grateful for the Winter season to tune into my intuition, take stock of the yearly accrual of emotional battle scars, strip away what has died or needs to, I admittedly tend to resist the healing process. Whether setting aside some space from a toxic relationship or resisting FOMO with my friends for some evenings of journaling, candles and self-care, sometimes I just don’t feel like feeling.

I’d much rather stay busy—spend time shopping or aimlessly scrolling the internet. By mindlessly disconnecting, I can construct a batterment to constrain the burdens in my heart, head, hands, shoulders—wherever. I’d rather suffer endlessly from the weight of stress and worry if it means I don’t have to unpack, unload, face some pretty painful memories and actually deal with them. Masochism in its finest.

Our instincts provide us with powerful resources for recovering from trauma. Shock grants us a short-term coping mechanism to ease us back into the rituals of daily life, but, if untended to, fresh cuts can rot and remain underneath scabs of selective memory.

Oftentimes, when a painful feeling arises, we’ve nearly forgotten the origin of the wound in the first place. So when a memory floats to the surface and pulls the pain up along with it, we’re taken aback.

“I thought I got over this days/months/years ago!”

We treat unresolved emotions like unwelcome dinner guests devoted to delaying us from reaching our dreams and destinations. So we slam the door shut the moment they arrive.

But Winter is persistent. “Make time for your heart. From it flows the wellsprings of life.”

If we surrender ourselves to the process and bravely face the feelings rising within us, we would soon identify the link between our undiagnosed outbursts of abnormal behavior and that thing that happened in 2nd grade that nearly destroyed us. The cavern in our hearts reserved for unresolved emotions can provide a roadmap of clarity to help us better understand ourselves and provide healing to our relationships with the world around us.

But sometimes healing hurts more than we’d like it to. Sometimes healing hurts like death. It can be messy, scary, ugly and shame-inducing. So we’d rather just sit this one out―for life.

So how do we heal when we really don’t want to? We begin by accepting Winter’s invitation to peel back the layers of our hearts and remember the experiences we thought we’d long forgotten.

The wound is where the Light enters in.

— Rumi

What ways do you tend to resist processing painful emotions? Set aside lots of time this winter season to surrender the denial, the excuses, the shoulder shrugs. Be still and feel all you’ve been storing away, shoving down, hiding from.

Reserve an evening or weekend just for you and your heart. Sit with yourself for a while in a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine or camp out in your bed under a bundle of blankets, pillows and popcorn. Stay at an Airbnb in a remote, preferably wilderness location (so you won’t be tempted to resort to your usual distractions/defense-mechanisms).

Be still. Breathe. Ask your heart about all the hard stuff. I recommend using self-proclaimed ‘Advocate of Ease,’ Sandra Pawla’s list of self-discovery questions.

As I’ve gotten older, life often gets in the way of spending lots of time maintaining relationships, especially friends. As a person with responsibilities like a job, a house, a partner or even children, you have to make very calculated decisions on how you prioritize your relationships or else they will fall to the wayside.

Brene Brown, a top researcher on vulnerability from Texas, writes that human beings are hardwired to connect with each other. Relationships are the core of our purpose -- which is why most of our human experience revolve around creating, maintaining, thriving in and falling in and out of relationships with other people.

I’ve been reflecting recently on how I define and connect with my friends, new and old. I’ve determined some criteria that can be helpful to make decisions on how to manage relationships while making sure your connection is mutually fulfilling.

Four Questions to Ask Yourself About Your Friendship

Do you trust each other? Trust is the cornerstone to any relationship. Brene Brown defines trust as choosing to make something important to you vulnerable to the actions of someone else. She explained how trust is a lot like a marble jar that gets filled over time when you share things a person and they hold your trust. When something trust-breaking happens, a marble comes out. “We often think trust is built by grand gestures at crucial moments in our lives, but trust is typically built with simplicity and small actions.” Trust takes courage and the people you spend your time and energy with should honor that courage by keeping and building your trust.

Do they challenge you? Diversity in all its forms is important -- whether that be race, gender, perspective, age, or point of view. The people you choose to surround yourself with should help you ground your values and beliefs by challenging the way you see the world. They should be your built in checks and balances system. And, you should be comfortable challenging each other when your behavior is out of control; and support each other at a crossroads. A worthwhile friend should love you even when you disagree, and respect you when you make a decision that is not aligned with their opinion.

Do you regularly express love to each other? We all express love in different ways. Whether that be in gifts, text messages, showing up, phone calls, making a trip, or generally doing nice things for each other -- we all have our own love language. Having a mutually satisfying love language with your friends (even if it is unspoken) is really important. It’s the glue that holds a friendship together, especially as you get older and have competing priorities.

Do you admire them? Is there something you can learn from this person and their life experience? Admiration shouldn’t be a tool that makes the dynamic uneven, but should serve as a door to connection. Admiration is inherently linked to respect -- if you hold your friend in high esteem (and they do the same for you), respect, pleasure, and a growth mindset are at the core of your relationship.

These 4 questions will help you redefine your relationships and make sure they are an investment you want to make. Dive right in!

A few years ago, I was fresh out of grad school and interviewing for my first position at a few different ad agencies. Living in Virginia at the time, and having spent the entirety of my life to that point on the east coast, I was ready for a big change. I narrowed my search down to 3 west coast cities and trusted that I would know when I found the “right fit”.

After 3 rounds of phone and video interviews, one agency I was speaking with offered to fly me out to their office in Portland, Oregon to meet their team. Everyone was warm and friendly. They set me up in a beautiful boutique hotel, gave me a tour of the office neighborhood, and took me to their favorite coffee spots. At the end of the day, I received a job offer. I was ecstatic! This company made it clear they wanted to invest in me, and all signs pointed to “right fit”. I accepted the position before I even flew out of Portland the next day.

Fast forward 2 months: I had moved across the country, started work, and was beginning to settle in to a new life in Portland. My coworkers were becoming my friends and I was feeling pretty good. Until, one day out of the blue, the department head of my team at work suddenly called all of us into a meeting and announced one of our team members had been let go. She was simply “no longer working” at our company. I was shocked and felt on edge, but tried to brush it off as a one-time hiring misstep.

Until the same scenario began to replay itself, week after week. Employees across departments were suddenly terminated, with no explanation or premise. As a recent graduate deep in student loans with $0 in savings, my slight edge feeling shifted into full-blown panic. What if I was next? “That’s silly, I didn’t do anything wrong,” my rational side would counter. “But neither did anyone else who worked here…” the other side of my brain would remind me.

I can remember one particular meeting, a brainstorm session, that I was excited to be a part of. We had a new client and the brainstorm, I thought, was an opportunity for everyone to come to the table with an open collaborative mind to share ideas - so that’s what I did. I felt the meeting went well, but as we walked out, my department head called me into a side room where she informed me I was invited to meetings to “listen, not speak” and that I had to “read the room.” Once again, I was shocked. I didn’t know it at the time, but this incident was the first in a chain that sparked my descent into self-doubt and high anxiety at work.

After a few more months walking on eggshells, I started weighing the real pros and cons of how I was feeling at work. Sure - I had great friends in the office, I liked the free snacks, and the clients looked good on a resume… but I was MISERABLE. I lost the self-confidence I spent two years building in grad school, I was constantly paranoid about being fired, and I was afraid to speak up about anything. I started realizing I was in a truly toxic work environment that was damaging my mental health - and nothing is ever worth that.

Once I had my annual review and hit my mandatory one-year relocation agreement, I decided to pour myself into job searching. I could’t wait to get out, and I knew, as the saying goes: “the only way out is through.” I dedicated myself to pushing through. I liked Portland and wanted to stay in town, so I welcomed any connections that came my way. I set up coffee dates, even when companies weren’t hiring. I asked to come in for office tours, just to see the space and introduce myself. I spoke with companies about freelance opportunities, even though I knew I needed full-time employment.

But allowing that flexibility into my job search really paid off. One company that initially reached out to me for a freelance opportunity DID give me a full-time job offer. They saw my value and decided to find permanent space for me on their team. (That was 13 months ago, and I’m happy to say I’m still at this company today… and enjoying it!)

When I reflect on this experience, and the anxiety and self-doubt I went through while in it, I can think of a few things that helped me along the way. If you find yourself in a toxic work environment, I think these takeaways are great for anyone to consider:

Check in with yourself. As soon as I started feeling “off” at work, I questioned it. I didn’t bury it. I weighed my pros and my cons and reminded myself nothing has to be permanent.

Build yourself a safety net. A lot of my anxiety was finance related. Once I started saving a little bit of my paycheck each week, I was able to relax knowing I had a safety net even in the event I DID get fired. This safety net also would have allowed me to quit and job search while unemployed, if it ever came to that.

Prioritize mental health. A job is important, but a healthy sense of self is vital. If your job compromises this, it is not worth it.

Dedicate yourself 100% to the job search. Not 80%. Not for a couple weeks until you get discouraged. Go into it accepting it will take time. Don’t give up. Keep looking and keep trying, because it’s your way out and into something better.

Be OPEN. (This was maybe the most important thing for me.) Don’t turn down networking opportunities just because a company isn’t currently hiring… or for any other reason. Put yourself out there as much as you can, and meet as many people as you can.

Fake it til you make it. As I mentioned, self-doubt was running high towards the end of my time at my last job. But I couldn’t let that show through when interviewing. Simply pretend to be confident if you have to, and real confidence will eventually follow when you’re settled into a place that does value you!

Release bitterness and look back on what you GAINED from the experience. This can be difficult, but being in and leaving a toxic work environment is a huge learning opportunity. For me, I learned which frustrations are worth putting up with at work, and which ones are worth leaving over. I learned the qualities to avoid in a boss. I learned how to pick myself up again when I felt pretty low. Best of all, I realized that that job - despite making me miserable - is the sole reason I found my current job and my home in Portland. For that, I choose to be grateful. I found the silver living - and I moved forward.

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines...No, she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

“I have always been drawn to you from the moment I met you. You’re attractive—not like an actress or a model—but you’re beautiful to me.” Those words, though spoken out of flippancy and without a tinge of guile, sent me reeling. The boy I had fallen in love with over several months of friendship had finally confessed his feelings for me. But he had an unusual way of expressing it that night.

From birth I was “blessed” with bushy eyebrows, a space large enough for a straw between my teeth and a large, crooked nose that one boy in school even compared to a prominent member of the male anatomy. Even though I eventually discovered the miracle of tweezers and got braces to fix my teeth, I had grown accustomed throughout my life to developing my non-physical attributes: academic excellence, empathy, integrity—the only characteristics I actually could work on, unless I decided to take up the plastic surgery option that was so often suggested to me.

As a lover of ballet, poetry, flowers and music, I had developed a deep reverence and appreciation for all things pure, lovely and beautiful. But I always believed physical beauty would never be mine.

Aside from binge-watching the occasional America’s Next Top Model marathon, I had never taken great interest in the world of fashion and physicality. But once social media became a part of my life, dissatisfaction with my physical appearance surged deep into my psyche and began to taint my thoughts, desires and entire being.

Instead of dreaming about the ways I could use my gifts of intellect, compassion or creativity to alleviate the world’s suffering, I began the subtle slide into the world of Instagram models, Hollywood junkies and high fashion. Endless scrolling, endless comparing. Refresh, repeat. If I had no beauty, I had no worth.

Brianna Wiest, writer for Thought Catalog, captures this internal struggle so well in her musings on beauty, “Once upon a time, not so long ago, beauty was the greatest accomplishment – the only accomplishment – for women. Being objectively beautiful, better than other women, is something that’s so deeply ingrained in our psyches, and it’s only now being rendered obsolete as we (thankfully) change the way we determine ‘worth.’”

Flashback to that fateful evening: After probing further about the comment that launched me into the depths of insecurity, the boy—no longer a boy, but a man—from the first paragraph explained that he had tried to express that a rarer, deeper beauty within me had captured his heart.

He had originally been drawn to me for my strong moral convictions, my sense of adventure and the way I marched to the beat of a different drummer. His physical attraction for me had been birthed out of friendship based on mutual understanding and enjoyment of one another’s company—and his belief that I was a woman unlike any other he had met before.

Early on in our friendship after an emotionally explosive evening, he sent me the following text: “There is a new shine in your eyes. The shine of God.”

His love for me has only deepened over time; so has my perception of beauty.

Let the ancient words of the Apostle Peter, rephrased through The Passion Translation, ring true: “Let your true beauty come from your inner personality, not a focus on the external. For lasting beauty comes from a gentle and peaceful spirit, which is precious in God’s sight and is much more important than the outward adornment of elaborate hair, jewelry and fine clothes.”

However, especially in this age of social media, I believe how we view our physical makeup matters as well. Until we accept our outer-selves, the self-hatred spurred on by women’s marketing campaigns has won. Regarding physical self-acceptance, I learned we must not simply accept our perceived flaws or self-proclaimed ‘worst’ features, but embrace them. This process began for me when I woke up each morning to pray, “God, please help me to love the parts of myself I have always hated the most.”

I beginning to love the nose I once dreamt of chopping off into a bloody stump. I’m even planning on getting it pierced at the end of the month as a declaration that from now on I will celebrate my unique traits—physical or otherwise—and believe in the power of their beauty. And that decision has helped me celebrate the unique beauty of other women instead of pitting myself against them, for better or for worse.

After a lifelong battle against insecurity and unworthiness, I am finally beginning to love my own brand of beautiful.

I was driving around with a friend talking about places we’d like to travel to. I told him that I was leaving for Greece in a few days and expressed how much I was looking forward to the trip. He responded saying, “That’s so amazing that you’re going there! I wish I could go somewhere cool like Greece.” I paused for a moment then looked at my friend and said in a loving but also firm tone, “Wishing you could go somewhere cool like Greece won’t get you there. If you had to choose one place you want to visit more than anywhere else, where would you go?” He looked back at me, a bit shocked that I called him out so quickly, and said, “Well, I’ve always wanted to go to Australia.”

We then started talking about different ways to get him to his dream vacation. Because I know my friend isn’t the only person who gets caught in the fantasy of traveling but never actually taking the steps to make it happen, I’m going to share 5 ways that have helped me get to my dream vacations because what I want in addition to adding more stamps to my own passport is for you to do the same. I want to help you starve your excuses and feed your dreams. Hungry for adventure? Keep reading.

1. Write it down! Decide where you want to go, put it down on a piece of paper and hang it up some place you can see it every single day. Research shows that if you write down your goals you are 42% more likely to achieve them. After my friend and I had our conversation in the car, he went home and purchased a white board on Amazon. The next day, he hung it in his bedroom, and wrote “Australia” in all caps. He even drew a money meter where he could keep visual track of how much more money he needed to save. Which leads us to our next step.

2. Open a second savings account.One important thing I’ve learned in my 20sis that we live within our means, meaning if my paycheck is (hypothetically) $1,200 every two weeks then I will use that $1,200 to pay my bills, add to my savings account, buy groceries, go out to dinner and drinks with friends, potentially buy a new dress, and purchase a lottery ticket in hopes that I can start bringing in more than $1,200 every other week. All kidding aside, opening a second savings account allows us to save without even realizing that we’re doing it. You can choose to set up automatic transfers from your checking account into your second savings account so the bank automatically takes it out of your pay check. You can even ask your bank to not display your separate savings account on your phone app so you can’t even look at it! Start with $25 or $50 a paycheck and see how quickly you start saving. You’ll be surprised how little you miss this money because it was transferred before you even saw it. And now, it’s living in a place that will help it grow, which is ultimately the life we want for our cute little dollar bills.

3. Set a date. it’s easy to fall into the routine of saying “I will go there some day.” But guess what? There are seven days in a week and someday isn’t one of them. In moments of decision, ACT immediately. You want to go to Australia? Great! When? I want you to set an exact month and year. Then you can begin to look at flight prices.

4. Download “Hopper”. When looking for flights, you want to make sure you’re getting the most bang for your buck. Hopper is a great app for booking flights. You enter where you want and when you want to go and it tells you when the flight is at it’ guesstimated most affordable price. Most airlines have newsletters you can sign up for to receive promotions as well.

5. Start telling people. This may sound like a silly tip, but it’s always worked for me. Start telling people your plans. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in conversations with friends or Lyft drivers or bartenders about my upcoming trip or desire to go on a trip, and have made received some sort of tip or connection from it. You never know if the people you share your travel plans with have friends or family who live in the country you’re visiting. And there is no better host than a local!

These 5 steps will help you get from a person who dreams about traveling the world to someone who actually travels the world. It starts with the vision but comes into fruition with a plan. Good luck.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently about self-love. And I don’t mean I’ve been sitting up at night creating a list of all the possible ways I can actively show love to myself when my inner critic is on the attack. No, lately my usual acts of self-love—hot baths, morning walks by the water, afternoon naps in my fluffy feathered bed, Shirley Temple marathons, and a cup of hot tea before bed—haven’t quite done the trick. I’ve been craving something more, something deeper. I realized tonight, lying on the floor of the yoga studio looking for Shavasana, that what I desire, with every last molecule of my being, is a friendship with myself—you know, a relationship that keeps enduring long after the summer has ended and the tea is gone.

When I was a senior in college (a mere three years ago), I was co-president of a club called Beauty of Women that served to empower girls on my college campus to embrace their authentic beauty. As a club we celebrated Love Your Body Day, hosted a screening of Miss Representation, and occasionally held events where girls could come and discuss the pressures we all face in our college years and how to bond together to rise above them.

My favorite of these events was called “Dear Me” where we invited four senior girls to write letters to their freshman selves to elicit advice they wished someone had told them and share wisdom they feel possibly could have led their younger selves in a different direction. I remember sitting in the small audience, listening to the letters of my peers being spoken aloud, and simultaneously drafting my own letter to myself. At the time, I didn’t see my younger freshman self as a friend, but rather a small child who needed saving. While other girls were telling their younger selves to not worry so much about random hookups or poor grades in classes, all I felt compelled to do was give my younger self one incredibly large hug and whisper:

I know you’ve endured so much in the last 18 years with your Mom being sick and you feeling responsible for your parents’ happiness, and yet somehow you’ve kept a smile on through it all. It’s okay, my love. I’m here now. You can let all the pain go. I’ll carry it for you so you can go on and become who you’re destined to be.

Yes, for so long, I’ve tried to be my own savior. What I didn’t see then, in my senior year of college, was that my efforts to save my younger self and hold all of her pain depleted me, leaving only so much strength to navigate through the present moment with my present self.

Meet Wonder Woman, Elizabeth, traveling to the past to save her younger self from trauma and pain.

It’s a pretty beautiful sentiment until you realize you’re trying to save the part of you that already got through the darkness—the you who buried your mother when you were twenty two years old and somehow still managed to get up and fight for your life, slowly uncovering the meaning behind all the suffering.

As I sat on the floor tonight looking for Shavasana, I realized, I don’t need to save that girl; I need to be friends with her. I need to love her. I need to go on adventures with her. I need to ask her how she’s doing every day, and tell her how I’m doing, too. I need to validate her when she needs to vent, and cry with her when she needs to cry, and celebrate with her when she needs to celebrate. I need to help her mix the egg into the batter when she’s making brownies. I need to stay up with her through the sleepless nights. I need to remind her that she’s never alone. I need to admit to her that I don’t have all the answers, but I have all the time in the world to explore the questions with her. I need to take her hand, look her in the eye, and ever so gently say:

About a year ago my therapist, an addictions specialist, told me about a retreat for adult children of alcoholics. Knowing that I grew up in a home with a mother battling addiction and mental illness, my therapist believed the retreat would serve me through my personal journey of healing. In addition, she knew the retreat would teach me many tools that would inevitably help in my career as a Health Educator as I aim to offer hope to teens with addicted parents. Fast forward eleven months and three days, and there I was driving away from my home in Baltimore to a beautiful retreat house located in a place commonly referred to as Magic Mountain (a major selling point for a person infatuated with finding and traveling to magical places around the globe).

Packing for this trip was far simpler than packing for other trips I’ve taken. I decided that since this experience was about vulnerability and intimate connection with others, I needed to retreat not only from my day-to-day life, but also from the many masks I wear as a woman in this world. Therefore, I left behind my makeup bag and hair straightener; my favorite Free People dress and Coco Chanel Mademoiselle perfume; my tweezers and my all natural beach wave spray. I left behind the items in my life that, somewhere along the line, I had started viewing as daily essentials. If I was going to show up as my raw, apologetically messy human self, then I needed to work from the outside in.

When I arrived at the retreat house, I was greeted by eight fellow retreat members – nervously making small talk with one another while filling out forms – and two friendly therapists. I quickly realized that I was the youngest of the group by about ten years. I smiled as I exchanged names with everyone and quietly chose a chair to sit in. While I flipped through a packet of papers, one of the therapists took out a marker and wrote on a large poster board the word intimacy followed by the description, the willingness to be seen by another human.

I can honestly say that up until that moment of my life, I had viewed intimacy as some form of physical expression of love in the arms of a significant other. It hadn’t occurred to me that intimacy could be an authentic connection shared between two people choosing to show up as themselves in front of one another. It wasn’t merely about intertwining two bodies under safe and cozy sheets; it was also about being present to another person’s story and demonstrating that you as a fellow human of this world can connect with someone’s feelings even though you’ve lived a completely different narrative.

In my service-learning classes in college we called it ministry of presence. It’s the concept that helping one another doesn’t always come in the forms of building houses for those experiencing homelessness or feeding the hungry. Sometimes, the bravest and most intimate thing we can do is to witness each other’s lives without judgement. That’s exactly what we did at Magic Mountain. We came together and opened up about personal struggles we had endured. We held each other’s hands and hearts as we wiped away tears of sadness and laughter. We celebrated each other’s resilience and vulnerability. And within 6 days, these strangers became my family. For the first time in my 27 years of life, I could look into someone’s eyes and pour my soul out to them without feeling the need to turn away; I allowed myself to be seen in all my pain and fears and self-judgement. And I did it all as myself – untamed mane and open heart.

There is so much beauty and grace and humility in showing up as ourselves in this world with people we trust. In my experience thus far, it is in these moments when we feel truly and utterly accepted – like we are a part of something greater than ourselves. I have come to believe that these experiences create space for community and self-love to flourish.

In the words of Thomas Merton: “Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed. I suppose the big problem would be that we would fall down and worship each other.”

I suppose the big problem would be that we would fall down and worship each other. Imagine that?

I stood outside the restaurant in downtown Annapolis wearing my cute black tank top and new high-waisted skinny jeans with my favorite wedges. My five girlfriends, dressed head-to-toe in similar fashion, and I laughed together as we reminisced over funny college memories. My step-sister, the bachelorette of the weekend, suggested we take a photo to capture the moment as it would undoubtedly become one of those funny memories we would reminisce about ten years down the road. We asked a friendly face walking by if she would take the picture for us. “1,2,3!” she counted out loud giving us time to strike our desired poses.

1…I turn slightly in toward the group, bending my left knee diagonally to cover up my right leg that I fear looks fat in photos.

2….I tilt my head to the left so my loose curls fall over my shoulder, making my hair appear even longer than it is.

3…I begin to smile, but not too big as that will make my eyes look squinty, yet not too small as that will look unnatural. I think back to photos where my smile looks just right and try to recreate that look here.

“Say cheese!” the kind stranger snapping the photos says. None of us do.

In the week following the bachelorette weekend, I scrolled through the photos saved on my phone. As I looked back on almost every photo, I had a disturbing realization. We had taken so many pictures of the same moment in desperate need to get the perfect shot – you know that photo where every person feels they look beautiful, not too fat or too curvy, not too awkward or too silly. I began to wonder, when did the desire for perfection become more important to us than simply capturing a happy moment?

It seems that almost everywhere we look these days – Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat – we are bombarded with far more perfect images than realistic ones. When I make a smoothie, for example, it looks, well… like I blended up spinach, blueberries, almond milk, and almond butter which is precisely what I did. But when some of my friends make smoothies and post photos of their creations on social media, it looks like a bunch of fairies flew into their kitchen and sprinkled magic dust onto their concoction leaving me, the viewer, salivating asking two particular questions: what am I doing wrong and does Trader Joe's sell this magic dust in bulk?

Now I realize that some people are food bloggers or wellness coaches and so part of their job is to promote their business by posting photos that captivate their online audience. But it’s not just these entrepreneurs who post perfectly filtered images; so many of us have bought into this idea that if our photos of sunsets, girls’ nights out, smoothies or even working out aren’t pretty enough then they don’t deserve to be saved or shared. Yet I don’t think this reflects how we truly feel. Rather it is a byproduct of a world telling us that perfection has worth and imperfection simply does not.

So, let’s ask ourselves, what makes a sunset so beautiful? What makes a smoothie so delicious? What makes a night out with friends so enjoyable? For me, a sunset is reminder of how small I am in this wondrous world that we live in, but regardless of my smallness, I get to be a witness of so much natural beauty here. A smoothie is delicious because it’s a recipe full of my favorite things: fruit, almond butter, and a large scoop of nourishment and self-care. A night out with friends is full of laughter, dancing, and celebration of connectivity. It is in these moments that I find joy, gratitude, and peace. And honestly, those gifts are hard to capture in a photo.

Perhaps the intention behind having a picture taken shouldn’t always be about looking good while doing something enjoyable or fun or new so we can then share that filtered image with others; perhaps instead taking a picture can be far simpler. It can be about capturing a moment where we felt glad to be alive - curvy legs, wild hair, squinty eyes and all.

Last week I was babysitting two young boys in my neighborhood while their parents ran errands. It started off as most of my babysitting gigs do – we put together a puzzle, played tickle monster, and competed over a game of Zingo (for those of you who don’t know, this is basically bingo for younger humans. Needless to say, it’s a damn good time). During the game, the five-year-old boy told me that he had completed his bravery mission for the month and was excited to see what his Mom was going to get him as a reward. I looked at him quizzically. What was this bravery mission he spoke of? His explanation resonated with me, someone twenty-two years his senior, deeply.

“A bravery mission is when you choose to do something that scares you. When you do it, you are choosing to be brave.” I asked him what his bravery mission was and he told me that he chose to take swimming lessons even though he was afraid of the water. “After only one month, I advanced to Level 2!” he shouted in excitement. I couldn’t help but smile. Here was a five-year-old boy consciously choosing to overcome a fear of his so he could grow to be braver. This, I thought, THIS is what is missing in my life.

Once I put the boys down for their naps, I took out my phone and began making a list of potential bravery missions I could make for myself.

Start rock climbing at the local climbing gym

Go to the free mediation class down the street from my house

Put myself out there and make new girlfriends

Try one new recipe every week

Sign up for that tap dance class I’ve always wanted to try since I was a little girl

Try out that boot camp boutique gym down the street

Travel somewhere new

Buy a paint set and paint pictures

Take acting classes for fun

Enroll in a Spanish class

It amazed me how quickly I came up with ideas for bravery missions. It was as if I had been craving them without even knowing what they were. As children, we so easily engage in new activities merely because they sound fun. Of course, we get nervous to make new friends or jump into the pool for the first time, but we’re resilient. As we grow older so many of us get caught up in working crazy hours, binge watching the latest Netflix series, and just getting stuck in our same social activities with friends. We forget how to challenge ourselves outside of our work. We forget that we, like children, can still learn to be braver human beings. And when we take the time to step out of our comfort zones and try something that scares us, we gain confidence and a positive sense of self. No matter how young or old we are, there is nothing quite like feeling proud of ourselves for doing what we thought we couldn’t do.

What would a bravery mission look like for you? How good would it feel to do something you have labeled in your mind as too scary or too challenging? How long have you been yearning to be able to look yourself in the mirror and say, “Wow, look at what you just did. You are a brave badass. Anything is possible.”

Perhaps it’s a bit hypocritical of me to be so impatient with spring’s arrival date considering I’m pretty much two days late for everything, but I can’t help but wonder, is spring ever coming? And apparently, I’m not the only one asking this question. For the last two months while the east coast has seen almost more snow than we’ve seen THIS ENTIRE WINTER, all any of us can seem to talk about with one another is the unknown arrival date of spring.

I messaged a handsome guy on Hinge, a popular dating app used amongst millennials, asking, “How’s it going?” His response: “Silently cursing the forecast. How about yourself?” While stuffing my face with holiday food last week, I asked my cousin what he’s been up to. “Nothing outside!” he responded a little too angrily. Even when we did our annual family adult scavenger hunt, people seemed more aggressive than in previous years, quickly running around the yard as they simultaneously looked for those damn scratch off tickets and tried not to blow over. What, I ask you, is going on with this freakin' wind?! Blowing over has gone from the can never happen basket in my brain to the 99.9% sure it's going to happen basket.

I know, I know. You’re thinking, breathe, hunny… (and maybe cut back to three cups of coffee a day), but, my patience is running on empty. I scrolled past a Instagram post recently that read, “First the pain, then the waiting, then the rising.” As a person who appreciates deeper Instagram posts (I find it refreshing in a world bombarded with perfectly filtered photos), this resonated with me. I thought, “Yes, everything has a time and place, and now is the time for waiting…waiting for spring.” But I’ve waited, and waited…and then waited some more, and still, my spring clothes have not risen from the containers where they’ve lived the last few months. I have found that every time I open my closet, I judge my poor innocent sweaters, saying hurtful things, like “I’m sick of you,” or “Ugh, not you again.” What kind of person am I turning into? I also never thought I would live the day where I actually felt…oh no, here it goes…tired of watching Netflix. TIRED of binge watching The Office. TIRED (and unsuccessful) at finding a show or movie that I have yet to watch.

Spring, is there any hope that you will make an appearance sometime soon? You can blink a few times if that's an easier form of communication.

Finally, some of us received an answer. This past Friday and Saturday, out of nowhere the sun shined down and with it – temperatures in the 80’s warmed our skin. As I walked down the street to the local coffee shop to get an (iced) coffee, I noticed so many trees were finally in bloom. I couldn’t help but smile – spring had heard our call. Later that day I went to my friend’s son’s tee-ball game. Little boys and girls, parents, and coaches all dressed in short sleeves and shorts as they lathered themselves in sunscreen. I could feel the happiness I had been longing for coming back to me. No more puffy down coats or snow or long winter nights hibernating inside.

We, together, had made it.

And then just like that, I heard it in the near distance. Someone was crying. “Who would be crying on a day like this?” I asked myself. I looked around the tee-ball field and there he was. A tiny four-year-old boy, crying uncontrollably. About what you may be thinking? Well, about the weather. He felt, on that beautiful Saturday afternoon, that it was simply….too hot. I tried to stop him. I wanted to warn him not to cry too loudly for fear that spring –a moody season that doesn’t believe in FOMO and gets some sort of high off being missed by others – would hear. But it was too late. I knew what was to come. I reached for my phone, checked the weather app, and there it was: Sunday’s forecast. 45 degrees and 100% chance of rain…ALL FREAKIN’ DAY. And the days that have followed have been equally dreadful.

It happens every year. Sometime after January we begin feeling sick and tired of the cold and reminisce of warmer days where we were running around in bathing suits being kissed by the sun. Then once it arrives, there is always that one person who begins complaining that it’s too hot, that they’re too sweaty, that they need to be inside in the A.C., and then, jinxed, the cold returns.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too hard on this year’s culprit. After all, his father had dressed him in sweat pants in 85-degree weather. He didn’t know his crying would upset spring so much. All we can do now is wait once again, and hope that spring forgives us. And by us, I do mean that four-year-old kid. Way to go.

As a millennial who has spent her 20s navigating through the many platforms of social media, I’ve experienced a wide range of emotions while scrolling through countless posts and stories. There’s the feeling of jealousy that arises when I see a beautiful woman walking down some remote beach in Costa Rica, her skin tan and long blonde waves blowing in the wind as she stares out at the perfectly filtered sunset; there’s the feeling of isolation when I see a photo of a girls’ brunch that I wasn’t invited to; there’s the feeling of loneliness when engagement photos flood my newsfeed; and there is the continuous anxiety-driven feeling that I’m lagging behind in a race I wasn’t aware I signed up for the day I created my first social media account.

While I’m feeling a slight vulnerability hangover coming on just writing about these so-called negative emotions I’ve experienced, I know I’m not the only one who has felt this way after scrolling through their social media accounts. But as someone who overthinks most things (a trait I characterize as both a blessing and a curse), I started wondering, does it have to be this way? Are we powerless to feelings of jealousy, isolation, and loneliness in the face of social media? Will we always feel like we’re not doing enough or living cool enough lives if we’re constantly bombarded by images purposefully created to portray the best version of someone’s life? While I wish I had a simple yes or no to this question, the more authentic answer is: not necessarily. When I find myself experiencing negative emotions, I ask myself, do I have any power in this particular situation to change how I’m feeling? In the world of social media, the answer happens to be yes.

The following three strategies have helped me experience more positive emotions on social media. Like any changes we want to make in our lives, these strategies require personal awareness and practice.

1. Unfollow people who make you feel crappy. On social media we often forget that we choose who we follow and who follows us. Have you ever been scrolling through your social media accounts and find yourself feeling like you aren’t measuring up to someone you follow? Have you ever stopped and asked yourself why you continue to follow that person? Guess what? You can choose to unfollow ANYONE who causes you to experience negative emotions. Chances are they will have no idea that you stopped following them anyway and you can eliminate the feeling of annoyance or jealousy.

2. Follow accounts that make you experience positive emotions. Just like you have the power to unfollow people who bring out negative emotions, you can also begin to follow accounts that make you feel happy, inspired, and validated. Enjoy people who post funny captions? Check out Amy Schumer or Ellen DeGeneres. Love people who inspire you to live a happy and fulfilled life? Give Oprah and Mantra Magazine a follow. Looking for people who post authentic, non-filtered images that make you feel validated for living a normal life? Give Elizabeth Gilbert and Glennon Doyle Melton a follow. Overall, there are TONS of accounts out there that can provide you with the positive feelings you’re craving. Carve out more time finding your tribe than aimlessly scrolling through edited highlight reels.

3. Believe in abundance. This last one may be the most challenging strategy of the three, but it’s helpful for all of us who want to build a community of togetherness. So often when we scroll through social media, we begin feeling jealous of what we perceive as other peoples’ successes. We can often adopt this belief that there is not enough love or rich experiences to go around. If we see a beautiful woman, we think she’s more attractive than us. When we see someone traveling to countries on our bucket list, we wonder why we haven’t made it there yet. When we see people getting engaged, we can convince ourselves that we’ll be alone forever. But it doesn’t have to be this way. We can instead begin believing in abundance – the belief that there is in fact enough success, beauty, and love for all of us. When we adopt an abundance mindset we can begin celebrating others for their successes and see them as proof that we, too, can live extraordinary lives.

Remember, you hold the power when it comes to social media. Choose to create a world of connection rather than one of comparison and competition.

I once heard a therapist say that everything he needed to know about life he had learned in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. He said it was the only place where people were so openly raw and honest about who they truly were, shortcomings included. It wasn’t until I attended a similar support group, Al-Anon – a meeting for family members of addicts – that I began to understand what he meant.

When I walked into my first meeting, I admittingly was a bit skeptical. It was a Sunday and my jacket was soaked from the rain that fell on me during my walk from my car to the building. The meeting was held in a classroom at a local college that hadn’t updated their furniture in the last few decades. About twenty people, ranging in age from 21 to 65, sat in school desks like students waiting for their teacher to begin class. “Do I belong here?” I wondered. It had been over four years since I had lost my mother to an accidental overdose so how exactly was I supposed to benefit from a support group designed for people living in homes of addiction? I feared I was too late to reap any benefits. As I took a seat in the front row, I stared up at a corkboard with two signs pinned to it. One sign listed the 12 steps of Al-Anon and the other sign had the serenity prayer printed on it. I sat there reading the words of the prayer to myself over and over again.

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

It wasn’t the first time I had read this prayer. My mother had it engraved on a plaque in our dining room and every time I passed it as a child, I stopped and read the prayer to myself. There I was years later, a non-religious millennial desiring some type of connection to a higher power, reading the same words and finding them equally, if not more, profound.

As the meeting began people started sharing their stories one by one. Some talked about how powerless they felt over their loved one’s addiction while others shared examples of dysfunctional behavior in their home and how much agony it was causing them. While no story was exactly the same as the story I lived through growing up, so many of their feelings and thoughts resonated with me.

When there was about five minutes left in the meeting, I surprised myself by choosing to speak. I told the strangers in the room that I wasn’t sure if I was in the right place considering I no longer had a loved one struggling with addiction, but something had led me to that room with the outdated desk furniture on that rainy Sunday afternoon. I told them that I spent twenty two years living with an addicted mother who was as equally wonderful as she was terribly ill. And then I began talking about the heartache I was enduring at the time resulting from a boyfriend breaking up with me. I talked about my tendency, and perhaps our tendency as human beings, to reject, rather than accept, the things I cannot change. I didn’t want to accept the fact that I was no longer in a relationship with this man, just as I really didn’t want to accept the finality of my mother’s death.

Because the truth is that I hate accepting things I cannot change – especially when I didn’t choose for those particular things to happen. I didn’t want to live in a world where I was unexpectedly broken up with and had my mother taken from me far too early in life. But there I was – living in that world. No matter how many tears I cried or memories I replayed in my head, these truths in my life were not going to change. The more I rejected them, the more I inevitably suffered.

This is a trap so many of us fall into. Why doesn’t that person like me?Why did that person die?Why did I get diagnosed with this disorder? And the list goes on. What I realized in that meeting as I re-read the serenity prayer was that my survival and happiness depends largely on acceptance. For me, acceptance is looking at my life and all that has happened thus far, and sitting with it for as long as it takes. It’s trusting that while my journey is not always pretty, it’s lending itself to shaping me as a person. By breathing my reality in and cherishing it as my own, I am able to then focus my energy on all the things in my life I do get to choose, and there is real power in that. Serenity is a practice and it’s a difficult one. But I’m coming to believe that it’s crucial in the healing process.